The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,78
sound made ominous by the sight of four huge scaled humps breaching the still water and hinting at something colossal gliding just below the surface. A wake, of a size comparable to that left by a ferry or other large craft, rippled the surface behind the swimmer.
“Weapons at the ready and stay in the center,” Serovek instructed them. “I've no doubt this fence was erected to keep whatever is in the water from attacking those who take this road, but no need to tempt fortune by testing its effectiveness. Keep moving.”
The heavy mist blanketing the marsh followed them even after they left the road for higher, drier ground. Damp and chilly, the fog drifted belly-high on the horses, and Anhuset caught herself peering hard into the miasma, looking for ghostly crowds or a phantom queen who ruled them.
Late afternoon saw no respite from the cloudy gloom. Grim and frowning, Serovek rode a slow circle around their party as they tightened the distance between riders and wagon. “I don't like this,” he said. “We're traveling blind through this soup but stopping to camp is a worse alternative.” He rode closer to Anhuset. “How good are the Kai at seeing through fog?”
“Unfortunately, no better than humans,” she said.
“I was afraid such was so.” He addressed all three of them. “Keep moving and your eyes and ears open. We'll journey until full dark and get as far as we can before we stop to make camp. With any luck, this will have burned off or faded, and we'll have clear weather.”
As fate would have it, luck laughed at Serovek's optimism. The fog only thickened and rose higher until the wagon and team were vague shapes in front of Anhuset and the riders with her as phantasmal as the ghosts on the bridge they'd left behind days earlier.
“Methinks this stuff is thick enough to walk on.” Erostis's muffled complaint hung in the clinging mist, disembodied and far away though Anhuset knew him to be just ahead of her.
“I might as well be blindfolded for all I can see where I'm driving this team,” Klanek added.
“Hush.” Anhuset's command silenced them instantly. She reined her mount to a stop and listened. Almost indiscernible from the clop of horse hooves and the creak of wagon wheels, the faint sounds of movement teased her ears. The slide of leather on leather, the bend of wood from the draw of a bow. A furtive step. A careful inhalation.
“Close in,” she said, hoping her party heard her near whisper. “Shields.”
The hard thunk of an arrow hitting flesh, followed by Klanek's pained cry, set off a chaotic melée between their group and a half-glimpsed band of silent attackers. Obscured by the mists, they targeted the horses first.
Anhuset's horse squealed its terror as the tip of a whip snaked through the fog to land a welt across its rump. The animal bucked beneath her, thrashing even when a second whip crack heralded a strike across its withers, leaving a bloody welt.
Anhuset fought the reins with one hand and slashed at a shadowy figure darting toward her.
“Defend the wagon!” Serovek, invisible in the mist, commanded.
She was useless to help at the moment, working hard to control the half-mad equine under her. The horse reared, arching too far back to come back down on its front hooves. Anhuset leapt from the saddle to avoid being crushed as the horse fell backwards. She still held her sword but lost her shield.
More shapes hurtled through the mist, swarming them. Three rushed her, solidifying into men armed with blades and an ax. Undaunted by their number, she took the first man down with a quick cut to the torso, disemboweling him. Blood splashed hot across her arm and hand. The second she decapitated. The third reversed his charge and fled. Anhuset grabbed the ax the headless attacker had dropped and flung it, sinking it between the man's shoulder blades. He fell, disappearing into the mist without a sound.
“Anhuset!” Serovek's bellow carried to her, followed by a curse and more shouts before abruptly going silent.
She bolted in the direction from which his voice had come, praying she wouldn't stumble over a downed horse or worse a dead Serovek. She glimpsed the wagon, abandoned by both driver and team. She dared not shout in return and give their attackers her location.
Her caution came to naught. The slide of a rope sounded right at her ear before one looped around her neck and was jerked so hard, her head snapped